Beginnings and Endings
by Anansay
Summary: [GSR] - In short, Grissom realizes his mistake and begins the chasing of Sara. Of course, the question always is: is it too late? Will Sara let herself love and be loved by the man who’d stolen her heart so many years ago?


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**TITLE:** Beginnings and Endings  
**AUTHOR: **Anansay  
**SUMMARY: **What can be an original summary for a story that's been written oh so many times? In short, Grissom realizes his mistake and begins the chasing of Sara. Of course, the question always is: is it too late? Will Sara let herself love and be loved by the man who'd stolen her heart so many years ago? This is yet another take on what might could have /we only wished! happened after the infamous **Bloodlines **ending.   
**SPOILERS: **Everything!   
**RATING: **A moderate 'G' (don't look at me like that!)  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **First of all, and because I can never remember this: THANK YOU for the all the wonderful reviews for my previous stories. They always bring such a grin to my face! :)   
DISCLAIMER: Like so many other authors before me: I only WISH I owned the rights to these characters... things would be SO much different in MY hands! lol!

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Beginnings and Endings

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_By Anansay_

_June 30, 2004  
_

It was easier back then, wasn't it.

Easier to pretend that everything was alright. That everything would turn out okay. That nothing could harm either of them, that they'd be fine. Just fine.

But that was a long time ago, in a land far away. That was when they were young and full of life, laughter and happiness. That was when they were _alive_.

Young and foolish they'd fallen for each other. Hands brushing each other's as they walked side by side, discussing the latest forensic news from some magazine. Sitting beneath a tree, the canopy their own little intellectual nest. Gazing deeply into the other's eyes, goofy grins adorning their love-struck faces. They didn't know, not really, but they played the game all the same and felt the same flutterings in their heart and quickening of their breaths. Of course, they attributed it to the excitement of having found someone to share their odd interests.

It was all so much easier—no barriers, no walls, no fears. Freedom to be and live and love.

Yes, it was so much easier back then.

Now there are barriers, and there are walls, and there is fear. Barriers can be broken, walls can be crumbled. But the dismantling of fears is the most difficult. They tend to reproduce at every turn, feeding on each other and expanding to encompass and drown. Those fears stifle and cause stagnation.

Now they stare at each other from across crowded rooms. Sit quietly beside each other. Angry shouts and silent curses abound. There is no more touching. No more cute words with dual meanings. No more light touches and covert winks.

Now there is the ever-widening maw that threatens to suck them down into the sullied depths of their tattered relationship. A gaping oozing wound that threatens festering; its fetid redolence seeping into the crevices of their lives and touching all those around them, infecting them with their own repressed abscess of tempered fervor.

There was nothing they could do, at least that was the leading thought. The subsequent ones, though quiet and unobstructive, were more sanguine in their insistence of something so much more. It was the blood-life that kept them more or less whole—though tattered and frayed—and far from the implosion that threatened them on a daily basis.

Like atoms dancing around the molecule of their passion, they neither came together nor floated too far away. Drawn back together sometimes violently they'd swirl and spin around each other, their own private little whirling dervish of pain and anguish.

"Sara," he'd call out in a monotone from across a room.

She'd stop, look up and then turn her head before actually moving toward him. "Yeah?" she'd say in an equal monotone.

And together they'd look, see and quietly hypothesize, their minds melding yet again in a aching symmetry that never seemed to transcend their work lives.

And then they'd part and go back to their own orbit, whirling and swirling until the dizziness got too much and one of them would fall. Again.

The bottle felt good in her hand—strong, solid and heavy. And quite full of the amber liquid that would burn away all her pain. She spoke softly now, too hoarse to go any louder. Her limp body would fall to the couch, too heavy to stay upright. And then the dreams would come, cavorting in her mind offering images taken from life and her fantasies and twisting them until only one jumbled image remained and it was that one that haunted her every time she saw him at work. So she kept her eyes averted and her voice low and her body as far away from his as she could.

But her will was weak and crumbling beneath her and again their bodies touched and their breaths mingled and the tension rose—a binding and an alienation. For as close as they were, there remained a weighty siege on their words and those that made it through were clipped and bore no essence.

And the atom burned on.

* * *

It wasn't enough. She needed more. Demanded more. _Craved _more.

It wasn't enough just to work with him, to see him every night. It wasn't enough to hear his voice, to smell his intoxication as he walked away from her yet again. It wasn't enough to feel his hand on her back but for a moment before it was ripped away yet again.

It wasn't enough to simply breathe and be sentient. For what was sentience without the ability for action? The stagnation of her existence was fast becoming a bore and a nuisance. There lacked the vital ingredient to transform that mere sentience into something more akin to life.

She knew she loved him. After much personal debate on the validity of the idea of love it came to her attention that if something were to happen, if Grissom were to suddenly _not _be there, there'd remain a gaping wound in her soul, irremediable by any standards.

He was always there and yet never there. Always the bittersweet reminder of all that was absent in her life. Every day (night) the flimsy bandage was mercilessly ripped off and left open to the scathing air.

Sitting in that chair in that darkly lit room, knowing a cold speech about responsibility was coming was not a good thing. Especially when your insides decided to rebel against you.

Sara held herself still, eyes forward, just praying for the proverbial floor to open up and swallow her whole. And then she heard it—his voice. So soft and calm. Had he been calm when they called him? Had his hand tensed on the phone when they told him one of _his _CSIs had been picked up on a DUI? He was the very last person she'd ever want to see at a time like this. But he was coming—_now _he was there—to get her. And there was nothing she could do. Grin and bear it, like always.

She felt him by her, staring down at her and she bristled. Then he sat down, his hands running along his thighs to his knees as he braced himself.

He said nothing.

She tensed.

Then he sighed and she dropped her hands—_give it to me_.

What happened next could only have been a figment of her tipsy brain. Because she could have sworn he leaned in and took her hand. Just slid his in between hers and took hold, his thumb rubbing her fingers.

And then the words—those would be repeated in the quiet moments—"Come on, let me take you home."

Sara didn't move. She couldn't. Where was the anger? Where was the I-told-you-so's? Where was the sigh of disappointment? There was nothing there except those seven words of sympathy.

She hung her head; it had suddenly gotten way too heavy. Just like everything else

It should have been easy—"Come on, let me take you home"—but it wasn't. He was there, right beside her with her hand held snuggly in his. But it was wrong. So wrong. He shouldn't be there, not like this.

"What are you doing?" Sara asked him, staring at their hands.

Grissom's silence threw her right back in the hole—it never changed.

"I can't," she continued. "I'll take a cab. You can go now."

"No, I can't. let me take you home."

"Grissom…" the frustration evident in the sigh. "I don't need you."

"I know. But I want to do this."

"Why? Why now?"

"Is it too late?"

"Maybe."

The sudden silence was heavy.

"Please… just let me take you home."

"Grissom, _go _home. I'll be fine."

"No you won't. You're not fine. If you were fine, you wouldn't be here."

"So I had a couple of beers with Nicky and Warrick. I wasn't drunk, just legally so."

"Sara, you've never done this before—"

She turned to him, her eyes blazing. "How do you know? Just because I was never pulled over doesn't mean—"

"I know you."

Her eyebrow shot up. "Do you now?"

"Sara, let's go. Can we talk about this in the car?"

"No, right here. Because I'm not going with you."

"Please…"

"No. Not this time. I don't need you, I don't want you. Now go." Only then did she pull her hand from his and rose. Her stand was steady and she regarded him with cold eyes before leaving the room. And him.

He found her outside by the road, hand in the air waving for a taxi. It passed her by and he heard her sigh.

"Sara, just let me drive you home, okay?"

"And I told you, I don't need you to. I'm fine."

"Well I'm not!" The words had come out before his filter could destroy them.

Sara spun around and glared at him. "_You're _not fine? What is that supposed to mean?"

Grissom fumbled for words, his hand twitching at his side. Then in a sigh he spoke again. "I'm not fine, Sara. I haven't been fine for a while."

Sara stared at him, unable to think of a single word to say at his confession. It was more than she ever thought she'd hear from him straight-out. "I'm sorry to hear that Grissom. I'm going home now. Goodbye."

"Sara wait! Please. Let me drive you home. I… I think we need to talk."

"No we don't. The time for talking passed—when you said 'no'."

Grissom winced. "I… was scared."

Sara stopped her frantic bid for a ride and turned to face Grissom dead-on, her eyes cold and defeated. "I wasn't. Not anymore. I'd survived an explosion and I realized that life _doesn't _just go on and you _don't_ have all the time in the world. I waited four years for you, and I wasn't going to wait anymore. So I went for it. And you said no. So that was it. End of story. Until—" Sara gulped.

Grissom eyed her. "Until what?"

Sara's jaw shifted. "Until Debbie Marlin."

His face blanched before her. "What about her?"

A sigh. "I knew there was something different about that entire case from the beginning. It was just too… weird."

"You're telling me."

"And then I saw her…" Grissom looked up. "And that's when things began to make a little bit of sense but it wasn't until…"

"What?"

Sara sighed. "I heard the interrogation. I was listening, I wanted to know. But I never thought I'd hear… what I heard."

The man that Sara had admired for so long shrunk before her eyes. "Sara…"  
"Please don't. I don't want to hear anymore. I heard enough. I just want to go home now." She turned and swung an arm in the air—this time the taxi stopped. And then she was gone. Grissom was alone on the street corner.

* * *

The knock on her door didn't surprise Sara. She stared at him from across the threshold, and he stared back warily.

"What are you doing here? I want to sleep."

Grissom cleared his throat. "I know. But we need to talk"

"This again?"

"Yes—this. Can I come in?"

"No. I'm going to bed."

"Please…"

"I'm not into begging Grissom. I don't do it and I don't like other people doing it. It's not… nice."

"Fine. Let me in."

"And I don't do control either. I'll see you at work tonight—assuming I still have a job?"

"You do and you will… only if you let me in and we talk."

Sara had never figured Grissom for the blackmailing variety, but there was always facets to this man she'd not yet seen. With a heavy sigh she stepped aside and he stepped in. The door slammed shut.

"I know you're angry—" he started to say.

"I _am _angry. And embarrassed and frustrated and _tired. _Now say what you came to say and then leave so I can get to bed and then to work."

"Fine." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "First off, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For hurting you."

She crossed her arms. "Fine. Apology accepted."

Grissom pursed his lips. "That's it?"

"What did you want, me throwing myself at you? I already did, remember? Not again. Next."

Grissom stared at her. Her no-nonsense attitude shouldn't have come as a shock, but it did. She stood and stared at him, her eyes hard, her stance firm and solid. No sign of any insobriety at all. "I want—" He stopped. What exactly did he want? "I want… to do something about… this."

Her stone face regarded him coldly. Like a marble statue her expression never changed. He could see a multitude of responses passing in her eyes before she settled on one. "Why?"

"Because I don't want it to be too late," Grissom said, each word clipped with quick breaths.

"What if it is?"

"I would ask you to reconsider."

"And if I don't want to?"

Shock at her words registered on his face. "I don't know… I guess… I move on." His wearied tone belied his easy words and for once Grissom regretted ever wishing that Sara could contain her emotions. He didn't like this stone figure before him.

"That's right, you move on." Her voice was like cold steel, slicing through his heart.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

Sara snorted and spun around, giving him her back as she sauntered into the kitchen. He heard the clink of glasses and then the water running. He watched as she downed the water, a drop sneaking free to run down her chin. She wiped it away and then looked at him. "I don't care what you do. Not anymore."

Her words hit him hard and deep. With cold eyes and an even colder voice, she'd shucked him of his hopes. She had bested him in the 'vacation' conversation and now she had grounded him. Clipped his wings and left him stranded.

"Okay."

"Now leave."

Without another word he turned and left. The soft click of the door resounding in the silent apartment.

Sara leaned against the counter, a hand going to her chest as she fought to bring in air and to keep the room from closing in on her. It was too much, way too much. This evening had bombed so much bigger than any explosion in any lab. She'd much preferred a physical blasting than any emotional baiting.

In a sudden frenzied instinct of survival she plundered her apartment and rid it of all alcoholic beverages of every sort, pouring them down the drain. Then suffused the air with aerosol spray.

She sank into her cushions and finally—finally!—let the bulk of her frustration and pain rise to the surface in a upwelling of grief.

Spent, she lay back, her eyes moist and aching. Her body sore, her mind tender. It had taken so much to keep it in and so much more to finally release it all. Shaking she made her way to her bedroom and fell into her bed, letting sleep take over.

* * *

"Let me try."

The words came out of nowhere and hit her hard. The evidence fell and she gasped, spinning around. In the doorway stood the genesis of those words, eyes twinkling and fingers drumming in the air at his side.

Sara turned her body and regarded him impassively. "What did you say?"

"Let me try."

"Try what?"

"To be what… you need me to be."

She sighed, her eyes closed and she lowered her head before turning back to the evidence. "No. I need to work."

Grissom drifted into the room and stood beside her. Her hand still tingled from his and now her body joined in. Her breath caught in her throat and she struggled to remain alert. He always did that to her. Usually it was manageable—she'd just close down and remember his 'no'.

Not this time. Not anymore.

He'd held her hand.

"I really want to try," came his husky voice right by her ear.

She shivered in spite of herself and her eyes drifted close. With a snap they flew open and she rounded on him. "Why?" Her voice was low and rough. "Why now? It's—" She really didn't want to say it; that might close _and _lock the doors.

"…too late?" he said softly, his voice catching.

Sara swallowed. "I don't know," she whispered.

His hand took her elbow, thumb caressing the delicate skin of her arm. Even through the smock she could feel the heat and it almost undid her. "Please don't. Not here."

"My place?"

Her eyes focused on his for a moment, surprised, before she pulled them away. "No! Not anywhere. Not anymore."

"Sara…"

"And don't say my name. Not that anymore either. Look, you helped you out—finally!—but it's over. Thank you very much, now you can get on with your hermetic life." Sara turned away from Grissom and busied herself with the evidence, blatantly ignoring him.

* * *

Grissom sat in his office. It was his sanctuary away from home, another domain he could control and thus be himself. Lost in thought, his eyes closed, his face deceptively calm, he allowed the thoughts to roam freely in his head.

It seemed no matter what he did, Sara steadfastly refused to give him any leeway. Infuriating was a mild description of the turmoil churning in his gut. His clasped hands—well hidden beneath his desk—clenched tighter until the knuckles popped painfully.

Her gallant stoicism was irritating on so many levels he didn't know where to begin. A free spirit she used to be. Now a closed and walled up artificial version of her former festive self, one that laughed and joked and drew the crowds. This one pushed them away with her fake smiles and forced laughter.

Where had his Sara gone?

His Sara… Since when had he begun calling her that, he couldn't remember. It just seemed so natural, being that he'd brought her here himself. She'd been _his _friend, trusted and reliable. Over time she'd grown to become part of his team.

Now she seemed to have diverged to the periphery again—looking in but not partaking.

With a swiftness that shocked even him and made his chair groan in objection, he sat up, his eyes wide, hands braced on the desk. The thoughts that had previously only roamed now cavorted ravenously, jostling each other for supremacy. He looked down at his hands, the one that had taken hers so fortuitously the night before and he struggled to comprehend his own action. His fear had driven him to the station in record time but seeing her alive and almost well had swept those fears away in place of more acute emotions—longing and compulsion. A sudden need to go to her and be with her, to take her in his arms and shoo away her demons, those that kept her from smiling again. He'd taken her hand—a start—and it had felt _good. _ So good he never wanted to let go. But of course he did and she never let him take it again.

In the explosion he'd touched her. His heart had lurched in his chest and he found himself holding both her hands and uttering intimacies as though it were the most natural thing in the world. _Honey…_

He'd been so shocked and scared that he'd voluntarily—albeit unknowingly—broke past his barriers and reached out. And he'd done it again last night. Her shock had allowed him that small luxury. Now, back in her element, she pushed him away. And he was feeling the reciprocal actions of three years of agony of his doing.

He needed to break through her barriers. Those she'd erected on his discipline.

* * *

"I need you."

Now it was the coat that dropped from her hands as she stood by her locker. Her head dropped as the sigh escaped from her lips. "Grissom, please don't do this."

He came into the room and stood beside her. "Why not?" His voice was soft in her ear.

Sara bent to retrieve her coat, holding it tightly in her hands in front of her. "Because it won't work."

"I'll try."

"No you won't."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause I know you."

"Do you?"

She looked at him, met his eyes. The usually guarded windows weren't so guarded anymore. "Yeah, I do. Your job is too important to you." She swallowed hard. "And I'm not worth it, remember?"

Something flickered in his eyes, a momentary glimpse of fear and shock. It disappeared just as quickly and Sara wondered if it had ever really been there.

"You _are _worth it, Sara." His hand took her arm, again, and like his fingers that can't seem to stop moving in mid-air so they moved on her arm, again. "Very much so."

Her breath caught in her throat. "I… don't believe you."

His eyes travelled from hers to her lips and back again. "What can I do to make you believe me?"

She watched his lips from the words, the ache in her belly growing, tightening. Meeting his eyes again, she fought to control her breathing, and to think. "I… nothing. Nothing Grissom. Let me go. I… need to get home."

He didn't let her go. Instead he leaned in ever so slowly, watching her eyes widen and her lips part. "Please…" he whispered against her lips just before touching them with his own.

A war waged in Sara. To stop him now before she fell for him again, or to kiss him and finally give in. The two sides offered equal pain and freedom.

She fought the urge, kept her lips still. Grissom didn't push her, just kept his lips softly on hers, just to feel her. When he pulled back and she saw his eyes, it was almost her undoing. Such naked yearning Sara saw in them as his jittery breath fluttered against her face. Her eyes were drawn to his lips as he licked them.

"You kissed me," she said, partly in accusation and partly in wonderment.

"Yes. I did."

"Why?" She couldn't take her eyes off him, her shock was still so strong. She waited to see if the scene would suddenly start to wobble and then wash away. It didn't.

"I wanted to," was her simple reply.

"But _why?_" she cried spinning around, away from those beseeching eyes.

His hand still held her arm. "Because I need you to believe me, Sara." He gently tugged her back to him. "I do need you, very much."

Her body turned back but her eyes stayed down, at his chest. Her voice was softly cold again, retreating. "Grissom, you don't need anybody. You never did."

"I always needed you." With a hand beneath her chin, he brought her face up to his. A moment later their eyes locked; Sara's were wide and glistening. "And wanted you." His voice was softer and deeper, a sigh from deep within.

Her lips trembled as she parted them to speak. "I…"

But her argument was cut short by his own lips against hers.

Like moments when he'd dart out of a room on a whim, a gleeful smirk on his face, on his way to yet another experiment, Grissom had lunged forward and quieted yet another argument from Sara regarding his feelings. He was not a man of original words and he was running out of poets and playwrights to quote. So he'd done the next best thing—he showed her.

With arms wrapped snuggly around her willing body, he allowed his lips to linger on hers longer than the first time. It wasn't really his choice anyway—he couldn't pull away, even if he'd wanted to.

A soft sigh and a moan sent his heart crashing against his chest and stealing his breath away as her arms wound around his neck and he was held against her. With certain trepidation he allowed his tongue to push against her lips, seeking entrance. And when her mouth opened, his arms jerked her tight to him.

A moment later he pulled back, breathing hard and resting his forehead against hers. The suddenness of the kiss and then the pulling back had Sara reeling in confusion and rooted to the spot.

"Not here," she heard Grissom say breathlessly.

"Okay."

Grissom lifted his head, his eyes glancing behind him to the door before turning back and fixing her with an intense stare. "Come back to my place."

Sara's mouth dropped open.

"Please." It was just one word, one supplication but his tone, his eyes, said so much more.

Her mind flashed the images and she wavered. He'd never asked her to his place. Not even when she came to Vegas. Just straight to work, all business. And the distance only grew between them. They were living in the same city, working at the same job but the closer their bodies got, the farther apart their souls were pushed.

And here he was finally asking her to his place, after kissing her almost senseless.

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_Almost _senseless.

"No."

His erratic breathing suddenly ceased. When she glanced at his eyes they were quickly filling with walled sorrow. It tore at her own heart just the way he'd melted hers, only to walk away again. He blinked a few times, weighed something in his mind and then stepped back, his arms dropping to his sides like useless appendages.

"Why?"

"This should never have happened, Grissom. It's not that easy. You can't just kiss me and everything'll be fine. It doesn't work that way."

Grissom sighed and ran a hand roughly through his hair, disarraying the curls. "I don't know… what you want Sara—what you need. I—I don't know what to do." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm trying."

The entirety of Grissom's despair washed over Sara taking with it the bedrock of her reserves and leaving her reeling with renewed faith. He was trying, after all. He wasn't dead yet, just… tardy. She took a step forward.

"I know you're trying, Grissom," she said slowly, fighting to get the words out. "I'm just scared right now. It's been so long that I…" she sighed. "I guess I just got used to not having you. Now that you're offering yourself… it's just weird."

"Take me."

Sara blinked—hard. "What?"

"I'm yours."

Suddenly her hand smacked his forehead and stayed there as she peered intently into his eyes. "Alright mister, who are you and what have you done with Grissom."

Gently he took her hand off his forehead and held it, his thumb softly caressing hers. "Sara, I know things have been weird… for a while. It's my fault and I'm sorry. I'm trying to make it better. Work with me okay?"

Her hand began trembling in his and her previous bravado was replaced with a growing sense of wariness. "Okay," she said on a breath.

His lips curled and his eyes softened as his hand moved to her cheek. "Now, would you please come home with me?"

It really was a simple request, a movement forward to places unknown but not unwanted. So why was she hesitating? Because it was Grissom, the man of no action. The man who "couldn't". The man who had ostensibly given up.

But when she looked into his eyes, those deep blue orbs of such depth and intensity in most situations, Sara felt herself getting lost again, getting pulled into that world of obscured fantasies and unmet wants. But here he was, offering himself to her, like an wearied dog finally coming home and seeking the hand that's always fed him.

Sara took a deep breath. There was a part of her that relented and grew soft and yearning. It needed him as much as her body needed oxygen. Yet another part found itself slinking back into the shadows of her pain and hardening, waiting for the blow that it felt would eventually come. But it was a quiet form of protection; it couldn't quell the burgeoning ember of hope that had begun when his hand had slid into hers.

"Yes," she whispered.

The grin that grew on Grissom's face was of such brilliance and relief, Sara couldn't help but offer one of her own. It was contagious.

****

THE END

Copyright © 2004 Anansay


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